


In the Clear Night

by mlyn



Category: Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid (1969)
Genre: 19th Century, Action/Adventure, Angst, Cowboys, Established Relationship, Friendship, Historical, Humor, M/M, Romance, Sharing Body Heat, Slash, Yuletide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-20
Updated: 2009-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-04 17:30:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mlyn/pseuds/mlyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things don't always go the way you expect them to, and such trials can put a strain on a friendship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Clear Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NovaMist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NovaMist/gifts).



"Butch."

Butch looked over his shoulder. "Not now."

The Sundance Kid looked skeptically at the open barn loft door Butch was about to jump through. "Why do we always end up jumping outta barns?"

"Kid, you got your name from getting caught, and last I did time, it was for cattle rustling about a million years ago. So would you clam up and trust me here?" With that, Butch scooted forward and disappeared. A quiet _oof_ followed shortly thereafter.

Sundance sucked in a sigh and went to the doorway. He could hear the shouts of the posse that was forming out at the main road, so he didn't have any more time to argue with Butch. Ignoring the pain in his right knee, he sat on the edge of the floor and pushed himself into the chilly open air, bracing one foot against the outer wall below. Turning in one quick movement, he used the loft floor as a handhold and dropped lower, then let go and fell the remaining few feet. He felt a jolt of pain in his knee, but he barely blinked at it before Butch handed him the reins to his horse and he grabbed the saddlehorn to swing up. In seconds they spurred their mounts and tore off across the moonlit field.

They rode hard for at least ten miles, taking cover in the darkness of a tree-shrouded stream and continuing up the Muller River valley. Then Butch veered off to the northeast, no hesitation in the new direction.

Butch did know most of Wyoming like the back of his hand, after all. It was one of the reasons Sundance stuck with him—there was no one better at eluding the authorities.

They scrambled up a ravine and came upon a cow path. Butch took his horse onto the path and slowed to a trot. Sundance glanced over his shoulder, but there was no sign of the posse. Didn't mean they were safe, though. They'd thought they'd been safe before, and it had turned out not to be so. More than once.

Sundance bit back a "where we goin'?" Whether he said something or not, it didn't matter much; Butch went the way he wanted, and that was the end of it.

They came to a saddle between two hills and Butch stopped, looking around and tilting his head to listen. Sundance watched their breath form little clouds.

"You hear any horses?" Butch said after a moment.

Sundance shook his head. "You expecting some?" Butch liked to use multiple sets of horses for their getaways. It usually worked out. Butch had out-smarted posses and the Pinkertons multiple times, and the horses didn't get ridden to death.

"We're supposed to have fresh mounts here. Eddie Mackinnon knows where this is."

Sundance suppressed another sigh and sat in silence. Wasn't Butch's fault, but Sundance disliked trusting too many people to take part in a heist.

"Anyway, I got a stash here. We can buy more horses." With that, Butch headed toward a clump of trees. Sundance wasn't convinced, but he followed without a word of disapproval.

Butch knelt at the base of one tree and pulled out a big game knife, then stabbed it into the soft ground and pulled up clumps of dirt and vegetation. While he dug, Sundance checked back over the dark panorama behind them, looking for signs of the posse, lanterns or dark shapes moving in the moonlit landscape. Nothing yet, but they wouldn't have the cover of night forever.

Butch suddenly pulled up and got to his feet, empty-handed. He went to another tree without saying a word, and began digging again, his shoulders hunched belligerently.

"_Christ_," Sundance swore, but said nothing beyond that. Instead he glared back at the valley behind them, and tried not to think how much time they were wasting on Butch's bad memory.

"Aw, _hell_," Butch grumbled. Sundance turned back to see him getting to his feet. Butch wiped his knife clean on his thigh and sheathed it, then climbed back into the saddle. "Let's go."

* * *

  
The Muller River valley ended between two peaks, Muller and Minotaur. Tonight the peaks were shrouded with cloud, ominous below the bright moon. Through the shreds of fog Sundance could see snow dusted on the trees. He curled his lip in disgust and rubbed his mustache.

"Doesn't look too good up there," he called to Butch in a low voice.

"No other choice. It's the best pass for twenty miles. I think the snow ain't too deep yet."

"You just keep thinking, Butch."

"That's what I'm good at."

Sundance rubbed his mustache again, keeping his eyes trained on Butch's back.

After another two miles, the wind picked up and Sundance felt the prickles of snowflakes on his face. The snow quickly thickened until it was flying wetly into their faces, catching in eyelashes and slipping down under their collars. Then the air cooled further, the big snowflakes shrank into icy shards, and Butch started riding across the slope rather than up. He was moving into the lee side of the mountain, Sundance knew, to find shelter and wait out the snow squall.

But they couldn't get completely out of the storm's reach without riding further into it. Butch found a steep bank half-sheltered by some thin pines, and here he dismounted. Silently they formed a nest with the saddles as a cushion, and burrowed against the bank with the blankets over them like a pair of hibernating bears.

Butch said nothing for a while. The snow settled over them as an extra layer. The horses stilled, just waiting, conserving their energy.

Butch shifted. "You got any food?" The movement reminded Sundance of how little room they shared, with Butch's thigh and arm pressed tight against him.

"Couple old biscuits." Sundance got them out of his bags and handed one to Butch. They ate every crumb.

"I'd sleep if it wasn't so damn cold," Butch muttered. He tucked his gloved hands under his arms, trying in vain to keep them warm.

Sundance didn't say anything to that. Between the small take they'd gotten from the bank and every other damn thing that had happened since, he didn't feel much like helping Butch warm up. And here they were, sitting out in the open, after having left tracks for ten miles. He was getting more nervous by the second, thinking about the posse coming ever closer while they sat in place.

It seemed crazy, lying out in plain sight, but also like it would be just the thing. Butch's plans usually had a whiff of each.

"Would you relax?" Butch mumbled. Sundance gave him a glance, and Butch tucked his chin into his upturned collar and hid his gaze under his hat brim.

* * *

  
Butch fell asleep. When he was sure of Butch's slower breathing, Sundance felt for the money bag and slipped his fingers inside. It was all dry and intact, such as it was.

"All this for one thousand dollars," he muttered to the horses. Butch stirred. Sundance glanced over. "Sleep some more."

"Can't. I'm going to turn into an icicle." Butch pulled his hat lower.

Sundance chewed on his chapped lips. Butch hated being cold. This job was supposed to be their last before they went south for the winter and holed up somewhere, and they were damn close to freezing to death over a measly thousand bucks.

* * *

  
Less than an hour later, Sundance heard some men's voices. He stiffened, alarm making his fingers twitch. But as they grew closer, he realized they were discussing how the snow had filled in all the tracks, so if Cassidy had ridden through, he was long gone by now.

"Let's just keep going," someone said. Unbelievably, the noises faded away.

Sundance continued waiting. Dawn broke and the clouds overhead gradually lightened. Slowly the trees around them took on more detail and separated from the darkness. And still, there was no sign that they'd been seen.

Sundance shook his head again, unable to believe that Butch's plan had worked.

"Told you," Butch said from under his hat.

Sundance grabbed his hat off his head and swatted his face with it. Butch recoiled and sputtered, "Hey!" and they glared at each other.

"Smug bastard," Sundance muttered. He tossed Butch's hat back on his head. Butch adjusted it petulantly.

"Your mama know about this violent streak of yours?"

Some question to be asking a notorious outlaw wanted in five states. Sundance fought off a smile, a frequent occurrence around Butch. As much as he wanted to stay angry with Butch, he was too damn likable.

Butch stood, disrupting the layer of white that had accumulated over their blankets. Sundance made to get up after him, but his knee locked painfully and he fell back into the bank. Butch reached out for him on instinct and grabbed his arm.

"That leg still giving you trouble?"

It was nice that Butch remembered, but Sundance didn't say so, of course. He scowled instead. "Maybe if I didn't jump outta barns every other week..."

"Bitch, bitch, bitch." Butch heaved and Sundance got to his feet. "C'mon."

* * *

  
He let Butch take the lead. He didn't know where they were going, anyway.

To his surprise, Butch went to much greater lengths to make the ride easier. He chose the clearest path through the freshly laden trees and shook the worst widow-maker branches clear of their dangerous load when they couldn't be avoided. Sundance watched him with curiosity; normally he didn't go to such trouble.

In three hours they picked their way around Muller Peak and dropped down into the valley on the other side. The clouds dispersed, and the sun peeked out and played with patterns among the red Ponderosa pines. With the blue shadows and fresh white snow, it looked darn pretty. Best of all, the posse's messy tracks veered off toward the south after reaching the peak, and Butch continued on eastward. Sundance relaxed, the ache of tension between his shoulder blades fading away. Butch had, yet again, gotten them out of the thick of trouble.

They rode on down the backside of the mountain for hours more. It wasn't until late afternoon that Butch said out of the blue, "I know where we are." The sound of his voice was a surprise.

Sundance tipped his hat against the glare of sun on the snow. "East of Muller Peak."

"He speaks! How I missed your quick wit, Kid. There's a miner that's got an operation up ahead here. C'mon."

Sure enough, within minutes they smelled smoke from somewhere ahead. A few hundred yards further on, they rode out of the trees and onto a rocky bluff. Below them on a wide ledge was a cabin, smoke threading out of a chimney. There was a tidy woodshed and a little lean-to barn tucked against the bluff, and some hay out for two horses that nosed around the ground. They lifted their heads when they sensed the new horses.

Butch navigated the bluff, finding a path down to the cabin. Finally they dismounted, and Sundance held the horses while Butch looked toward the house.

A door opened. "That who I think it is?"

"It is. Mister Abelard, is that right?" Butch took off his gloves and held out his hand, white with cold. Abelard grasped it and shook it vigorously.

"Come on in where it's warm, damn it. Is that the Sundance Kid?" Abelard peered at Sundance.

"Yep," he said in reply.

"My boy'll take your horses." Abelard looked over his shoulder. "Charlie, come out here."

A boy around seven pulled on some fur-wrapped boots and took the horses. Sundance grabbed their saddle bags and followed Butch inside after Abelard. He kicked the snow from his boots and pant legs before stepping up onto the small porch.

Inside, Butch immediately doffed his hat. His hair was filthy, matted to his head with sweat and dirt, but his expression was all earnest sweetness. "Hello again, Missus Abelard."

Sundance closed the door after them and saw a woman sitting by a fire, knitting in her lap. She was ready for them with a smile as she got to her feet.

"What a pleasant surprise, Mister Cassidy," Her quiet voice had a clear Irish accent that made Sundance think of back East and dock workers in Boston. "May I get you some coffee?" She pushed back a curling lock of red hair.

"That's music to my ears. Call me Butch. This here's the Kid."

Sundance took off his hat, smoothing his hair down. Abelard took the hat, as well as their coats. While Butch and the missus exchanged pleasantries, Abelard brought them blankets and foot warmers. They put their boots by the fire to dry out.

When Sundance found himself tucked into a chair with a cup of coffee, spiked with whiskey, warming his hands, he again shook his head in disbelief. It seemed like Butch knew one person for every five square miles in the entire state of Wyoming, and they all loved him. This was not the first time they'd been welcomed with open arms, and Sundance knew it wasn't due to his own charm.

While Charlie worked on his lessons and Abelard talked with Butch about a neighboring miner's run-ins with some claim-jumpers, Sundance watched Mrs. Abelard prepare a meal until he felt his eyes get heavy. The next thing he knew, Butch was shaking him awake with a warm hand on his shoulder. It had grown dark outside, and candlelight made the cabin feel even cozier.

"C'mon," Butch murmured, and smiled when Sundance focused on his face. "Let's eat."

To Sundance's hungry eyes, it looked like a feast, although clearly the family didn't have much. There was a fragrant chicken stew with lots of potatoes, and some biscuits and gravy, and that was about it. But the water was clear and cold, and it all tasted delicious. They ate in silence for a while, too occupied with food to remember polite conversation. Then Mrs. Abelard cleared the table with her son's help, and they went away into a back room while Mr. Abelard poured whiskey for the three of them.

"Sure appreciate this hospitality," Butch said, lifting his glass in a casual toast.

"It's our pleasure, sir. I wouldn't have gotten that barn built if it weren't for you. Haven't forgotten that kindness."

That was the thing, Sundance thought, watching the two of them talk. Butch may have been an outlaw, but he loved helping people, chatting folks up, making friends. And he was a good friend to have. He couldn't help how fast posses formed, or early snowfalls, or bastards who dug up another man's stash.

"Well, I bet that barn will suit us just fine," Butch said, looking at Sundance. Sundance nodded.

* * *

  
He wasn't entirely sure why they couldn't sleep on the floor by the fire, but at least the hay was softer than a hearth. Abelard gave them some extra blankets, so between their body heat, the hay, and the coverings, they got pretty comfortable.

"Look what I found," Butch murmured just when Sundance was going to put out the lantern. Butch dug into the hay and pulled out a dirty muslin sack.

Inside were several thick wads of cash, an extra revolver and some bullets, and a half-empty bottle of whiskey. Sundance raised his eyebrows at Butch.

"Stashed it in the rocks when I built the barn," Butch said, grinning. "Three summers ago. Nearly forgot about it."

"Butch, farmers all over the West have gotten rich off your bad memory."

"Aw, it's only money." Butch pulled out the whiskey and they passed it back and forth for a few minutes. When his chest and mouth tingled continuously, Sundance resettled under the blanket. Butch took one last swig and then put the bottle away and extinguished the lantern. He arranged himself against Sundance's back, his weight warm and comfortable.

"Sorry the last couple of days have been a trial," Butch murmured, his breath brushing Sundance's neck. Sundance realized he'd missed this feeling, and an uncontrollable shiver of pleasure ran down his spine.

"Yeah, well." He reached back and grabbed Butch's arm, draping it over himself.

It didn't take long for Butch to return the affection. His hand, having been resting innocently on Sundance's belly, drifted lower to his fly. Butch just rubbed through his trousers at first. Stirred by the whiskey, Sundance felt himself harden and pushed up against Butch's hand. Butch scooted closer behind him and Sundance felt his heat pressed firmly against his back.

"Where to next?" Sundance tried to control the sound of his voice, but Butch was unbuttoning his fly and that always made his breathing come fast.

"Maybe go lay low in Pine Rapids for a few days," Butch muttered against his neck. Sundance tilted his head and felt the rough scrape of Butch's beard, then the soft press of his lips just under his ear. His fingers wove in past Sundance's drawers and wrapped around his half-hard prick, his grip light and gentle for now. "Maybe we can find a hotel and not come out. One with a big bathtub, and a well-stocked bar."

Sundance wasn't really listening anymore. Butch talked too much, anyway. He dropped his head back to Butch's shoulder and concentrated on the brush of breath against his ear, and the warm rough glide of his fingers, and the little sounds Butch made when he got worked up. His mind drifted to past trysts in more private locations, and before he could harness his thoughts he was reminiscing a long, slow fuck in an abandoned farm house a few months prior, and he suddenly climaxed with a quiet moan.

Butch just held him for a minute, and then Sundance roused himself. He fished out a handkerchief and pushed it into Butch's hand, and rolled over while Butch cleaned up.

"Whatcha thinking of?" Butch asked as he worked the handkerchief between his fingers. Sundance got Butch's belt unbuckled and started working on his fly.

"This," he answered simply.

"Yeah? Me too."

Sundance thought about telling him to be quiet, then felt the familiar, insistent press of Butch's prick into his palm. There were better ways to make Butch focus, and Sundance set to doing them.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks as always to Gwyneth Rhys for her invaluable feedback.
> 
> I am the original assigned writer, and could not be more thrilled that there are still people requesting this fandom for Yuletide. Butch Cassidy is one of the most fascinating figures I've ever had the pleasure of studying, and the portrayal of him and the Sundance Kid in film remain one of my all-time favorite performances on film. I've loved Paul Newman and Robert Redford in this film since I was a little kid, and my enjoyment has only grown as I've gotten less innocent. ;) Writing the slashy interactions and banter was a daunting challenge, but a welcome one.


End file.
